


Two Hearts in 3/4 Time

by musterings



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Community: FFXV_Kinkmeme, M/M, Matchmaking, Mistaken Identity, Mutual Pining, Underage Drinking, possibly in case 18 aint the drinking age for ya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-10 03:07:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18930058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musterings/pseuds/musterings
Summary: The older gentleman let out a mournful sigh, “I get it.”“Pardon me sir?” asked Ignis, scanning the crowd for a familiar face that could give him an easy exit, all to no avail,The older gentleman shook his head, his gaze distant, “It’s unrequited love isn’t it?”Ignis choked on his sparkling juice, the fizz of the drink burning down throat, “I don’t know what you’re talking about."Written for the kink meme prompt: Ignis accidentally telling his crush's dad about his crush.





	Two Hearts in 3/4 Time

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the kink meme prompt: ["Gladnis + Accidentally Telling Your Crush's Dad About Your Crush:"](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/5690.html?thread=10792762#cmt10792762)
> 
> If you wanted a bit of inspiration, this was the music I had in mind for the [first](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qVG0kKUTXqg) and the [fourth](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fH4-Qc6vtLU) dance. And if you wanted another, the title is from [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aVU4sbXvvpo) piece.

A left step, then a right step, then a left.

Ignis watched from his spot from across the ballroom. He could dance this waltz in his sleep, the steps basic so everyone could follow along, as everyone did.

A step and a swirl of the skirt, and a turn.

And a step, and a swish, and a roar of a laughter from the young man Ignis has had his eyes glued on the entire night.

At the end of their dance, Gladio’s partner stepped back, a pinch of her sparkling gold dress delicate in her hands, and curtsied, which Gladio met with a polite bow and a friendly grin.

No sooner had he risen from his bow had another young woman tapped him on the shoulder, a redhead with a dazzling smile. The two exchanged a curtsy and a bow just as the band started their next piece.

Ignis gripped the neck of his champagne glass.

_Maybe the next one._

He sipped from his glass of sparkling apple juice, not yet of age to down the free flowing bottles of liquid courage that Ignis sorely needed right now.

Another unified swirl of dresses, a loud giggle, and the sight of Gladio gripping his partner closer as they passed Ignis’s spot along the periphery of the ballroom.

Ignis retreated further back behind the buffet tables.

The ball to celebrate the Crown Prince’s fifteenth birthday was in full swing, one of the Citadel’s ceremony halls converted into a ballroom for the occasion, the walls lined with tables of appetizers and flutes of champagne or non-alcoholic drinks.

Guests flocked from all over, foreign dignitaries, distant nobles and their sons and their daughters, for what better occasion to introduce their intrepid daughters to Royalty than during a milestone of the Prince’s youth. He is getting to that age after all, many guests had repeatedly reminded a disgruntled Noctis.

His sixteenth will surely be painful.

Unfortunately, Noctis danced with maybe two or three partners out of obligation, spoke with maybe four or five guests, with Ignis following along to smooth out interactions and fill in awkward silences, before Noctis bowed out and retreated to a corner with Prompto, two plates full of appetizers in his arms.

Ignis reported back to Regis in despair, but the King had only shooed Ignis away and ordered him to have fun himself.

With the numerous twinkling chandelier lights illuminating every corner of the ornate ballroom, Ignis was fortunate enough to secure a secluded corner under one of the balconies protruding from the mezzanine level of the room, which cast a shadow over whoever stood under it. Secluded enough that not even the eagle-eyed Gladio could notice him, to Ignis’s combined anguish and relief.

“Now what is the young Lord Scientia doing out here?”

Ignis turned and met the owner of the voice, an older gentleman, his hair close-cropped and greying, his clean shaven face tinged pink and his features breezy and light, the champagne glass in his hand the most probable culprit.

It’s a face that should be familiar but Ignis can’t quite place in his shadowed spot that this stranger had intruded on.

Ignis has dealt with plenty of members of the council, guards of the King or workers of the Citadel, who fit the bill of “older gentleman” on a day to day basis, but he hadn’t the brain capacity to figure out which one this older gentleman would be at that very moment, sent into a tizzy by being caught in the act of tracking the object of his affection’s from across the ballroom.

“Just taking a breather from the festivities sir,” said Ignis.

Sir is a safe bet for this man, dressed in his neat expensive-looking tuxedo, all black including his shirt, except for the subtle gold trim of his lapels—a subtle indication that this man was someone important.

“That’s not what I heard,” said the older gentleman whose face Ignis couldn’t place. He picked a small of bit of cheese from the tray of a passing server, and declared with total seriousness, “Our good Marshal Cor asked that someone be sent over here and ensure you had fun.”

The Marshal. Okay, that’s a hint, first name basis too, this older gentleman must somehow be associated with the Crownsguard.

“I appreciate yours and the Marshal’s concern, but really sir, I’m enjoying myself plenty,” said Ignis, sipping his apple juice.

In their conversation Ignis had failed to notice that a new musical piece had started and with that, a new dance, and with that, a missed opening for an invitation.

Gladio hadn’t changed partners, his arm once again around the waist of the radiant redhead, her dainty hand in his, his smile playful and friendly.

Ignis’s stomach sank, and a small traitorous sigh escaped from his lips.

“Hmm? Is there someone out there you would like to dance with?” the older gentleman looked at Ignis with unfocused eyes, and followed his line of sight, “I could introduce you. I know a few people.”

“Oh no sir,” stuttered Ignis, unaware that the man had been watching him, “I’m content to watch.”

The older gentleman shook his head, “I’ve heard that you’ve done so much for tonight my boy, it’s the least someone could do for you,” he marched over to the buffet table and exchanged his empty champagne glass for another, “Well then, have at it, which young lady has caught your fancy?”

“I’m fine as I am sir,” Ignis declined politely, “I’ve met many wonderful people this evening already.”

Ignis had gained a bit of a short queue himself, doing his part to redirect some of the younger guests from an exhausted Noctis.

The older gentleman hummed, but his eyes darted from one young woman to another with a determined glare that suggested no intention of letting the issue go so easily.

They watched in silence as the couples in the ballroom spun and twirled, stepped and turned.

A small gasp from the woman with the blazing red hair, a mischievous grin from Gladio as he lowered her in a dip, and a sharp inadvertent exhale from Ignis.

The older gentleman let out a mournful sigh, “I get it.”

“Pardon me sir?” asked Ignis, scanning the crowd for a familiar face that could give him an easy exit, all to no avail,

The older gentleman shook his head, his gaze distant, “It’s unrequited love isn’t it?”

Ignis choked on his sparkling juice, the fizz of the drink burning down throat, “I don’t know what you’re talking about."

“I’ve been there before young one,” said the older gentleman wistfully with a tap of his forefinger to his nose, “I know that look in your eyes,” he raised his chin in the direction of the young redhead, in a manner that Ignis _should_ think is familiar, but he can’t quite fathom why, “The Tenebraean Minister of Finance’s daughter?”

“Ah, so that’s who she is,” said Ignis with feigned interest.

“She’s a lovely girl, I could put in a good word for you.”

Fortunately there was no need to deflect the offer, as the band wound down, and the older gentleman’s drunken attention was pulled somewhere else, up towards the direction of the King, where he was entertaining a few guests with Cor.

From the distance, Regis waved.

Ignis waved back, and from the corner of his eye, watched in quiet anticipation as Gladio met the redhead’s curtsy with a bow _and_ a wink.

The redhead walked away, stopping to look over her shoulder every few steps to see if Gladio would follow.

To Ignis’s odd relief, Gladio hadn’t.

Another partner, another curtsy, another polite bow.

Nevermind the fact that Gladio had been dancing all night since he was relieved of guard duty. He entered the ballroom earlier on and it was no exaggeration to say that almost all heads turned, the girls all suckers for the guard uniform and the roguish smile of the young man it housed.

But then again so was Ignis.

The pair twirled past, the girl’s cheeks radiant as Gladio whispered something in her ear.

At the other side of the ballroom another makeshift queue has formed, more young women in their opulent dresses whispering among themselves, having waited for Gladio since he had taken to the dance floor.

An imaginary queue to which Ignis was perpetually at the end of. There were far too many elbows to rub with, too many daughters of esteemed guests to placate with provisional promises of ideal matches with sons of nobles or of highly regarded families.

One such son was in high demand. The sight of Gladio throwing a dance away with another man would probably have their esteemed guests foaming at the mouth.

Ignis sipped, then sighed, then hung his head.

“Gladiolus has all those girls smitten tonight,” the older gentleman mused.

Ignis hummed in agreement, pretending not to have noticed.

“I always did find it a bit odd,” said the older gentleman, his voice almost slurred, “He’s a looker that’s for sure, but Gladiolus is a bit of a ruffian isn’t he?”

“He's not all bad,” said Ignis as he looked down at his feet, shifting his weight from one foot to another. He could change the subject, maybe excuse himself to the bathroom or send a message to Noctis or Prompto to rescue him.

“He’s charming,” Ignis continued.

“Charming? I can get you plenty of _charming_ , there’s a number of charming young men in this ballroom at this very moment,” said the older gentleman in disbelief, “But _Gladiolus?”_

A slow bubble of irritation mixed with the sparkling juice in Ignis’s stomach. Despite Gladio’s status, Ignis was well aware of how the more traditional upper echelons of the council derided him.

He’s too rough, too crass, too reckless.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Ignis asked through slightly gritted teeth.

“What do they see in him?” asked the older gentleman, his brows furrowed in genuine confusion, “Apart from his amazing genetics of course,” he added with a laugh.

Ignis blinked.

“He’s very friendly to everyone he meets,” Ignis continued after a moment, compelled to defend his friend’s honour, even in the face of an inebriated stranger, taking care not to snap the neck of his glass in his tight grip, “He can be very kind.”

“Hmm.”

“He’s very intelligent— and very well-read,” said Ignis, a faint smile forming on his face, “More so than he lets on.”

Another twirl of skirts in succession, a quick change of partners mid-waltz, a tinkling high pitched laugh from one fortunate girl realising whose muscular arms she just landed in.

A place where Ignis wished he could land in everyday for the rest of his life.

“It’s just—” Ignis rolled the neck of his glass up and down between his thumb and two fingers with another exhale, his glass devoid of alcoholic content all night, so there’s no explanation for why Ignis has said what he has, nor for what he continued to say, nor for his small distracted smile as his gaze drifted back to the dancing pair, “He makes people feel at ease.”

Now it was the older gentleman’s turn to sigh, his expression soft, betraying a strong sense of nostalgia that Ignis would have easily caught had his attention not been glued elsewhere.

“Well I’ll be damned.”

Ignis glanced at the older gentleman, who gave Ignis a sly smile, the familiarity of which tugged at the back of Ignis’s mind.

“So it's _Gladiolus_ the young Ignis Scientia is pining after?”

Ignis choked a gulp of his apple juice down his throat, and stayed silent.

“You are aware that just answered my question right?”

Ignis hung his head in resignation, disguised as a sip of his drink, “I don't _pine.”_

“For how long?” the older gentleman pressed, with no hint of mocking nor condescension.

Ignis answered with a feeble shrug.

To Ignis's credit, the older gentleman will most likely not remember any part of this conversation the following morning.

Nonetheless Ignis was careful not to let out any further specifics, that he’s cherished this affection in his heart for as long as he remembers, but that he can indeed pinpoint it to a rainy late afternoon outside the Citadel sometime last year, somewhere between five-thirty or six, but definitely closer to five-forty-five, Gladio’s lopsided smile timid as he held his unzipped parka over their heads to shield them from the rain, long enough to walk Ignis to his car.

“Has Gladiolus ever said anything about it?” inquired the older gentleman with a pained expression, his slurred voice seeping with sincere concern.

Ignis shook his head.

“Of course he hasn’t!” the older gentleman let out a puff of air and shook his own head in frustration, “Have you asked him to dance?”

Ignis paused, then shook his head again.

“Why not?”

Ignis fidgeted with his tie, “I don’t know _how_.”

“The Amicitias are straightforward people. Just say—” the older gentleman cleared his throat, “Gladiolus Amicitia, I would like you to dance with me.”

Ignis winced at the image of him asking Gladio to a dance like how one would challenge someone to a duel, but it would be impolite to criticise freely offered advice, particularly from a potentially politically important figure, even if the man was red in the face from drink.

“I don’t think I could, not in front of all these people,” said Ignis plainly.

“Everyone’s dancing with each other!” the older gentleman yelled, swinging his glass of champagne up in the air, “It’s the perfect moment!”

“But dancing with the Prince’s Shield, in front of the King? In front of _his father_?”

Ignis frowned down at his glass.

 _Especially_ Gladio’s father. Clarus was most likely setting his own plans in motion for a potential match for Gladio, the young man having only recently turned eighteen months ago. Ignis hadn’t spotted the older Amicitia during the evening yet, most likely keeping an eye on Iris, but he’s never too far away from his King.

In Ignis’s meticulous planning of putting his flight of fancy to action, he never stopped to consider what came _after_ Gladio agreed to dance.

Now that someone is actually on his side of the ring, or rather, the ballroom, the reality of approaching Gladio could only make Ignis’s stomach churn.

He wasn’t prepared for that, as good as Ignis was. His contingency plans for the evening have only been geared towards Gladio’s rejection.

“I couldn’t,” sighed Ignis, “I don’t know what they’d say.”

The older gentleman gaped open-mouthed at Ignis, a strong resemblance to the fish that the King and Noctis have countlessly pulled out from rivers in the fishing trips Ignis has bore witness to, his brows once again knit together in confusion.

“Huh,” said the older gentleman after a moment.

Ignis watched in wide-eyed shock as the older gentleman drained his champagne glass and placed it back on the buffet table.

Before Ignis could stop him, the older gentleman flapped his hand at Ignis, beckoning at him to follow as he took wide strides across the ballroom.

Their timing was, unfortunately, perfect, Gladio's last dance partner curtsying to Gladio's mild mannered bow.

Ignis hovered by the older gentleman as he tapped Gladio’s shoulder, and in a split second, all pretense of charm slipped from Gladio’s face and into a frown of irritation when he turned around.

“Gladiolus,” said the older gentleman, in a stern tone that should be familiar.

_Wait._

That tone _is_ familiar.

An evening’s worth of appetizers and glasses of juice threatened to climb up back Ignis’s throat.

“The hell Dad?” Gladio scowled, glancing from the older gentleman and back at Ignis, whose face had turned as white as the immaculate table cloths adorning the tables of the ballroom, “Cor took me off guard duty ages ago.”

“That's not what I'm here for,” said the older gentleman, no, _Clarus bloody Amicitia_ , his features, although still loosened by alcohol, schooled into an attempt at looking grave, and to Ignis, definitely more familiar.

The older gentleman, _Clarus Amicitia,_ Ignis corrected himself, stepped forward and muttered something into Gladio's ear, and Gladio's brows rose sharply in surprise.

The older gentleman stepped back.

“L-lord Amicitia?” Ignis stuttered out.

Dancers once more began filling the ballroom floor.

“Enjoy yourselves now why don’t you,” said Clarus, squeezing both boys by their shoulders.

He turned to Ignis, his face serious despite its ruddy colour, “And if anyone gives you trouble, you come straight to me.”

Before Ignis could respond, Clarus smacked his hand on the top of Gladio’s shoulder, and strode off, back in the direction of his King.

“Dad gets kinda weird with champagne,” said Gladio, with an apologetic shake of his head, “He’s nowhere near drunk though, if you can believe it.”

“He’s not?” asked Ignis in a small voice.

“Nah, a bit tipsy maybe, but it’ll take him more than that!” Gladio laughed as he watched his father walk away and turned to Ignis, arms crossed, his brow set back in irritation, “You wanted to dance?”

 _Yes,_ but also no, now that it was clear to Ignis that Gladio clearly didn’t. How dare Ignis interrupt him when he was clearly having a perfectly good time with the others? And Gladio wouldn’t dare refuse his father in front of all these guests.

Ignis’s head whipped around the ballroom, mapping out the exits, he could dart out to the balcony—that would be closer—but if he left through the main doors, there’s less of a risk that Gladio would follow him and corner him for questioning.

“Well here I am,” Gladio said, his hard expression relaxing somewhat. He spread his hands out to gesture to himself, his chin raised in a confident and distinctly Amicitia-like manner, “Am I leading or are you?”

Ignis faced Gladio with pursed lips, his arms folded across his chest, heartbeat resounding in his ears.

Their fellow dancers took their positions as the band eased into the first few notes of the next musical piece.

Ignis looked at Gladio with wide eyes and shrugged.

Gladio sighed, stepped forward and snaked his right arm around Ignis’s back, and gently pulled Ignis’s right arm away from his chest, sliding Ignis’s right hand into his left.

“Come on then, _I'm_ leading, since you’re taking too long to decide.”

Ignis nodded, stunned speechless, his hands warm where Gladio had placed them on his person—in a rough calloused hand, on a firm muscled bicep—goosebumps sauntering from where Gladio’s arm settled around his back and creeping into a flush up his neck.

A cold sweat on Ignis’s brow, a hitch in his breath, a pound in his chest.

Gladio tapped his foot slowly to the beat, and quietly hummed to the lilting tune of the waltz.

He stepped forward, Ignis stepping back and then to the side as he followed Gladio’s lead in a slow simple box step.

Ignis could dance this in his sleep.

And yet, it took every ounce of his concentration to even will his damned feet to _move_.

“Dad said you’ve been waiting to dance with me all night,” said Gladio, his breath hot against Ignis’s ear.

“He said _what?”_ spluttered Ignis.

“You shoulda said something!" Gladio said with a laugh, "I’ve lost count of how many people I’ve danced with already, I’ve been trying to get away from everyone.”

From when Gladio was taken off guard duty and Ignis had stopped taking dance partners of his own, Ignis counted and watched him dance with exactly seven.

Ignis steeled himself to ask his friend to dance after his second, chickened out, and talked himself up again after the third.

But Gladio's third partner had been resplendent with her flowing dark locks in her fitted lace dress, that it sent Ignis looking back at his own gangly figure in his newly purchased tuxedo, and shrinking back into the shadows, to put it off and wait until after Gladio’s fourth.

He lost his wits after about Gladio’s fifth partner.

“You didn’t look like you minded,” said Ignis, his tone unperturbed.

“They’re real sweet, I’ll give you that,” said Gladio with a grin, “Did you see me with the Minister of Finance’s daughter?

“I think I may have. The lucky girl who garnered two dances?”

“Yeah,” Gladio barked out a laugh, a rumble that Ignis wished he would feel had a small gap not been left between them, “She seemed like she’d be your type.”

Hardly. Not that Ignis would tell Gladio that—because then he’d have to tell him who _would_ fit his type.

“She seemed lovely.”

“She had a cute accent I guess,” Gladio shrugged, “Kinda like yours.”

The music of the waltz filled in Ignis’s abrupt silence.

A soft glance from Gladio cast down through long lashes, a surge of self-conscious fluster in Ignis, and—

“Ouch!”

—a hard step right onto Gladio’s foot.

“Sorry!” Ignis exclaimed, and he tacked on weakly as a poor excuse, his eyes glued to his feet, “I’m not accustomed to dancing partners with feet as big as yours you see—”

The resounding echo of Gladio’s warm deep laugh broke through Ignis’s panic and it drew Ignis’s gaze back up as they fumbled to bring themselves back in time to the beat of the music and avoid any oncoming collisions with other dancers.

“Not the most flattering thing to say to your partner,” said Gladio with a friendly wink, “But y’know what they say about guys with big feet right?”

Ignis snorted and bowed his head to hide his own laughter, and slapped the hand he had resting on Gladio’s bicep.

It didn’t take long for Ignis’s reticence to dissipate, his head light as Gladio led him through the dance to the musical piece, Altissian most likely, the rapid plucks of the guitar coinciding with the rapid tugs at his heartstrings as Gladio coaxed out jittery details of his evening so far.

Gladio’s hand squeezed his at the end of their first dance, and he kept it there as they laughed raucously through tangled arms at a botched wrap of an arm over Gladio’s head during their second.

Soon the puzzled stares of dancers and glares of girls in their imaginary queue—justified as Ignis had fallen out of it himself, only to cut right back in, albeit under Clarus’s blessing, which _should_ count for something—became all but pinpricks to Ignis when he glimpsed his partner, Gladio’s eyes squinted into half moons as he laughed at their playful back-and-forths about foreign dignitaries.

Ignis’s heart sank afterwards when Gladio excused himself for a drink, but not without gently pulling Ignis by the hand to join him, chugging down a glass of champagne with one arm draped around Ignis’s shoulders, before setting his glass down and pulling Ignis back to the dance floor for their third.

Another glass of champagne for Gladio, another sparkling juice to wet Ignis’s throat, another tug at Ignis’s hand back towards the dance floor.

The band surged through its grandest piece for their fourth dance, punctuated with a small yelp from Ignis when Gladio held him closer, their lower torsos and thighs in full contact, Ignis’s face a deep shade of red and his heart thrumming with the music throughout the entirety of the rapid turns and spins of the fast paced dance.

His embarrassment was only made worse when a smug Noctis clumsily danced past, his hands linked in a circle with Iris and Prompto, Iris vibrating with excitement, and Prompto with wide eyes mouthing Ignis words to the effect of _Oh my gods you guys?_

Soon the band drew the music to a close, and the two boys bowed to each other for the last time that night, Ignis’s heart fuller than it’s ever been.

“What’re you doing after this?” Gladio asked, still slightly breathless, “Me and some of the other guys from the guard are taking some of the girls out to see the sights. Show ‘em some of the night life. Did you wanna come with?”

Disappointment clutched at Ignis’s heart and squeezed it empty again.

“It’s gotten quite late and I have an early start tomorrow, so I’ll be heading home after this,” said Ignis, “I’ll see His Majesty and Noct first, then I should probably find my uncle.”

If Ignis was not mistaken, Gladio also deflated, ever so subtly.

“I’ll see you back at work then,” Gladio said with a weak smile.

“Thank you for tonight,” said Ignis.

“Anytime.”

Ignis nodded and made to turn away, but Gladio reached out for his wrist and slid his fingers along Ignis’s palm to perch Ignis’s fingers atop the side of his own.

Ignis stood frozen as Gladio brushed the back of Ignis’s fingers lightly with his thumb, and before Ignis’s brain could supply him with the words he needed to ask Gladio what exactly he was doing, Gladio bent down and grazed his lips across the top of Ignis’s knuckles.

“A little something for all my dance partners,” he said with a small smile.

Ignis choked on his own mumbled good night and scrambled to look for Noctis and his father, gripping the spot on his hand that met Gladio’s lips with the other as he walked away.

* * *

No strangers to pomp and ceremony, the Amicitias enjoyed their moments of informality, particularly on evenings where the Amicitia children were privileged with their father’s presence.

On nights like these, they often took their dinner in the living room, large bowls of hearty and creamy chicken pasta in their laps, chattering over the one film that they had all agreed on watching—one of those feel-good family comedies that always has Iris in tears—the two kids having missed their father over breakfast.

Clarus sat in his armchair and listened as Iris rambled animatedly next to her brother on the couch, about the ball from the night before, about the beautiful dresses all the other girls were wearing, about attending a party for _grown-ups_ , getting to dance with the _Prince_ and _Prompto_ , not to mention with _Ignis_ too, who had been quite the gentleman to spare her a dance.

At the mention of Ignis's name, Gladio set his fork back into his bowl and leaned his head in his hand in deep thought, his eyes boring through the TV screen.

Clarus watched him from the corner of his eye as he nodded and listened along to Iris.

“Speaking of Iggy,” said Gladio during a rare lull in Iris’s retelling, his gaze bored as he watched the movie on the screen,

Clarus hummed to signal his attention.

“Did he say _why_ he wanted to dance with me?”

Clarus put his fork down in his own bowl, his face twisted in exasperation as he turned to his son.

“Really?”

“What?” Gladio grunted back,

“You're really asking me that?”

“What, was it to teach me a lesson or something?”

That was his working theory at the time, the invitation to dance Ignis’s own way of knocking him down a peg, taking their spirit of competition out of the training halls and into the ballroom.

And to think Gladio himself had tried to scope the ballroom out for his friend, excited at the prospect of enjoying an evening off together, to see Ignis let loose and have _fun_ , only to find Ignis holed away from everyone else, his glares sharp like his own daggers, squeezing the glass in his hand like he wanted to shank Gladio with it, as he watched as partner after partner kept Gladio busy, too preoccupied with their guests to even ask what had his friend so upset.

Too preoccupied to tell Ignis how striking he had looked in his tuxedo too.

But as soon as they were face to face, Ignis's movements lacked their usual grace, his sudden shyness making him look much too young for his immaculate tuxedo, armed with no quips at all about Gladio’s skills or any lack thereof.

Not to mention he had stomped right on Gladio’s foot during a dance they’ve both mastered as children.

“Your long-time friend—” Clarus began,

“Uh-huh,”

“—waited all night—”

“ _Yeah_ ,”

“—to work up the courage to ask you to dance—” Clarus paused, picking up bits of pasta with his fork, “—and you're asking me _why_?”

“ _Really Gladdy?”_ Iris piped in, “You still can’t figure it out?

“Not you too!” groaned Gladio, whipping his head from his sister and back at this father, “Why don’t you just tell me!”

“I don't know Gladiolus,” said Clarus with a glance at Iris, “This seems like private information Ignis decided to share with a trusted confidant.”

“You said he had no idea who you were!” Gladio protested, “He probably thought you were just some drunk old guy who wouldn’t leave him alone.”

“You should’ve seen his face when you said ‘Dad’,” Clarus chuckled, “Like Shiva herself came down to draw his soul out of his body,” he cleared his throat, his voice once again serious, “Having said that, that’s all the more reason for me not to divulge such information.”

“But I'm your _son!”_

“There’s no mistaking that obviously,” sighed Clarus.

That was the defeating blow. It was a poorly kept secret around Clarus’s family and friends that he was mostly to blame for the oblivious idiot gene. It certainly hadn’t been his wife. It's probably only fair if he gave his son just that bit of a nudge.

“Let’s just say young Ignis has…” Clarus began, hand on his chin in thought, “...carried a torch for you.”

The extra lunches Ignis always seemed to have to share with his son whenever Clarus spotted the pair in the Citadel’s courtyards, the rides home that Ignis often gave Gladio because it was “on the way anyway,” the panic that hid under Ignis’s usually calm demeanour when Gladio was on the receiving end of clumsy training injuries.

“For quite some time now, if I infer correctly,” Clarus added.

Iris pouted, “I didn’t see Iggy carry a torch around the ballroom.”

“Carrying a torch for someone means you have a crush on ‘em dummy,” Gladio chuckled and ruffled her hair, “Especially if you think the other person doesn’t like you back.”

Iris’s pout flipped back up into a playful grin, and she shot her father a look across the coffee table, a matching smile on his face.

“Huh,” said Gladio, his expression blank, bringing his hand to cover the bottom half his face which was slowly growing crimson.

“Was it a big torch?” asked Iris teasingly.

“Surely can’t be bigger than your brother’s ego that’s for sure,” said Clarus, dodging a bit of pasta his son had flicked at him, “Now my dearest son whom I love despite all his glaring flaws, _which_ Ignis was gracious enough to inform me are not all you have going for you,” added Clarus, to Iris's delighted squeal, “What do you intend to do with this information?”

Gladio accepted Ignis’s dance. He hadn’t been averse to a second, no, he had stayed by Ignis’s side for the rest of the night. Clarus couldn’t have misread the signals that evening.

“I just wanted to make sure,” mumbled Gladio.

It wasn’t a completely lost cause then.

“Take the poor boy out to dinner already,” said Clarus with a loud exhale as he settled back into his arm chair, “He’ll stress himself out to an early grave if you keep him hanging like that.”

Iris giggled and Gladio stayed quiet, turning back to the TV.

“So uh,” said Gladio meekly into his hand, “What else did Iggy say I had goin’ for me?”

* * *

The week that passed since the ball was, quite frankly, agonising.

Part of Ignis had been grateful for the lack of probing questions from Gladio, but another part despaired during sleepless nights about whether Gladio was too uncomfortable to even acknowledge the evening happened, or worse, if it had just been part and parcel of being the desirable man that was Gladiolus Amicitia, Ignis just one of the many items Gladio had to work through as part of his duties for the evening, the kiss that still lingered on the back of Ignis's hand just another feature of his romantic image.

Ignis was unable to question him about the kiss himself, he couldn't very well call Gladio out on his lie without providing evidence by way of admitting that he had witnessed Gladio's dances with all of his partners, unable to tear his gaze away from the man, and that none of those wonderful women—all very beautiful, very intelligent, very eligible bachelorettes, Ignis had concluded with hopeless resignation after dancing with a few of them—had gotten their hands kissed.

The ball itself was not mentioned again, and Ignis had reconciled himself to the fact that he will never demystify the puzzle that was Gladiolus Amicitia, and that if he cannot extinguish his hopeless crush for his friend, he should at least attempt to bury it alive, deep down below, where maybe, it can go suffocate itself.

Until one evening in a dining room in the heart of the Citadel, the first evening in a few weeks that Regis could make time for a more private dinner with Noctis and Ignis, who has always been welcomed to their dinners since the two boys were children.

“I trust you had a good time at the ball, Ignis?” Regis asked as he cut into his lamb shank, “We worried that you were being run ragged, what with all those jobs you ended up taking care of to keep the evening running smoothly.”

“I found time here and there,” said Ignis.

Noctis snorted, “You sure did— ouch!”

Ignis retracted his foot from under the table.

“I apologise for asking Clarus to intervene,” Regis continued, ignoring Noctis's outburst, “But you looked positively bored and Cor suggested we'd introduce you to a few of the younger people.”

“There's nothing to apologise for Your Majesty,” replied Ignis politely, “I appreciate your concern.”

“If you say so then,” said Regis with a warm smile.

“Hey Iggy,” said Noctis, his voice saccharine with innocence, “Is it true you asked Clarus for permission to—” he wiggled his first and middle fingers on each hand, to punctuate with air quotes, “—‘court’ Gladio?”

Ignis shot Noctis with a stern glare, “I did nothing of the sort.” 

He loved Noctis dearly, but he had a way of being unforgiving with the buttons of others when he found out exactly what happens when they were pressed.

“So you went straight to Gladio to ask ‘im out then?” asked Noctis through a mouth full of lamb.

Ignis turned to Regis for help, his face despondent.

“A modern man,” said Regis, nodding, “I respect that.”

Ignis sighed deep through his nose and silently cut into his lamb shank. Accidentally telling someone about his unrequited feelings for their son was one thing. Accidentally telling _Clarus Amicitia_ was a whole different beast.

Ignis might as well have written Regis a point-by-point essay noting every sordid detail of how he unintentionally revealed his long-held affections for the younger Amicitia to the boy's father, and a short summary that would get passed along to Noctis for good measure.

It would have the same effect.

“Seriously Specs,” said Noctis with a grin, “You're a genius! How did you not realise you were talking to his dad? He’s always with _my_ dad! And you’re always with me! You see him around for work right? And you've been to their house!”

Which was all true, but always from a distance as Clarus shadowed his King, his customary scowl a message to anyone who dared approach, or through cracks of doors around the Amicitia manor when Ignis would walk past with Gladio to quickly say hello, and he was almost always wearing his dark heavy robes that hid the broad figure that his smartly fitted tuxedo had put on display during the ball.

More importantly, said Ignis, his face contorted in helplessness, “He _shaved_.”

Noctis doubled over the dining room table in fits of laughter.

“You're kidding!”

Ignis shook his head solemnly.

“In Ignis's defense,” Regis began, briefly lifting his phone out of his pocket to glance at the screen, before slipping it back in and looking up at the two boys, his smile sympathetic, “No one could stop Noctis’s cries when anyone handed him to me after _I've_ shaved.”

“That was different!” Noctis groaned, “I was a baby!”

“Nonetheless, people look remarkably different with or without facial hair. Now I remember Cor back in the day—”

A ringtone resounded from Ignis's vest pocket, interrupting Regis's reverie.

“My apologies.”

Ignis pulled his phone out, releasing an almost inaudible gasp when he glanced the name on the screen.

Noctis blinked up at his father.

“Please dear boy, go on ahead and take it,” said Regis with a small smile, leaning his chin on steepled fingers.

Ignis looked nervously from Regis to Noctis and then back at his ringing phone.

“If you'll excuse me,” Ignis rose from his chair and walked out of the dining room, “Ignis speaking— Hello Gladio—”

Noctis rapidly turned to his father at the mention of Gladio's name, and Ignis's voice trailed off as he moved down the hallway, the thud of a closing door shutting Noctis and Regis out completely.

“Did he go into the bathroom to take his call?” whined Noctis, “That's just playing dirty.”

“Now Noctis, Ignis deserves his privacy,” said Regis, his phone back out of his pocket and in his hand. He frowned at his phone screen and looked back up at Noctis, “He isn't allergic to anything is he?”

“Nope, pretty sure he isn’t,” Noctis answered with a non-committal wave of his fork, “What do you reckon they're talking about?”

“A dinner and a movie,” said Regis almost instantly as he typed something out on his phone, “There's a lovely seafood bistro a couple of blocks away that does a wonderful _paella_. It's very casual, but fancy enough for someone of Ignis’s taste. Completely Gladio's suggestion too, but Clarus and I have been there a couple of times.”

Noctis frowned at his father and at the phone in his hand, his disapproving glare far too mature for his age.

“I'm _helping,_ ” rebuffed Regis. Hurt at his beloved son's glare, he pocketed his phone, presumably having sent his message, to presumably, the father of an Amicitia in distress.

It’s not difficult to imagine Clarus and Iris firing Gladio up, encouraging him to make the phone call, Gladio rising up to the challenge, panicking when the call connects, frantically gesticulating to his father for help when the stray thought of shellfish allergies or the like occurs to him, Clarus violently gesturing his answer back when he receives Regis’s reply.

Regis resumed cutting into his food with a gentle smile.

“It wouldn't do anyone any good if the pair had to rush to the emergency department on their first date now would it?”

“I guess,” agreed Noctis reluctantly, picking at his food, “Sounds kinda boring though.”

“It's a classic date format,” said Regis, “Movies can be a hit or a miss but the two of them have a good foundation to work with already.”

“Why not, I dunno, the arcade?”

“Maybe you could take your date to one, when the time comes—”

“Who's Noctis taking on a date?” asked Ignis, as he re-entered the dining room.

“ _No one,_ ” groaned Noctis.

“At least not yet!” Regis chimed in, and gestured Ignis back into his seat, “Finish your dinner now you two, so we can have dessert.”

Ignis sat back down in his seat and glanced at his blacked out phone before he returned it to his vest pocket, his ears bright red.

Just as Ignis looked down at his meal, Regis glanced at Noctis and flashed him a thumbs up.

The three continued to eat their dinner, the King and Prince exchanging cryptic glances over the tray of roast vegetables, waiting to see if the other would end the silence.

“So Ignis,” said Regis, with a wide smile he could no longer contain,  “Which movie were you and Gladiolus thinking of seeing?”

The blush in Ignis’s ears invaded his entire face. He'll never hear the end of it for weeks.

In the future, Ignis mentally noted as he ate his dinner in the face of both father and son's self-satisfied grins, he would be more careful to profile and mentally archive the faces of all the figures in his working life.

With or without facial hair.

**Author's Note:**

> all those period dramas I've been been watching had me thinking of those fun little social dancing scenes they always have (and this pair can never have too much dancing fic)
> 
> ended up deviating from the prompt a little, in terms of the reveal.
> 
> also just leaving this here: [@musterings1](https://twitter.com/musterings1)  
> come shout at me about stuff


End file.
